


homesick

by essiisse



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Getting Back Together, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Post-Promised Day, Recreational Drug Use, but im tagging it anyway, i mean it's only cigarettes, royai is only mentioned here and there, we are talking about havoc here so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26533201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essiisse/pseuds/essiisse
Summary: homesick |ˈhōmˌsik| (adj.): experiencing a longing for one's home during a period of absence from it.Or, Rebecca and Jean try to find their way back to each other in the midst of political changes, bad blood, promotions to fight for, barely concealed longing, military formalities and not so old feelings for each other.
Relationships: Rebecca Catalina/Jean Havoc, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	homesick

**Author's Note:**

> stuck at home in this quarantine and i re-watched fma:b again and of course, i'm into its with minor ships now :) and i just love havoc a whole bunch ok?
> 
> who knows who's gonna read this, but if you are here, i hope you'll enjoy this!

Back at the east, things had been simpler. Casual.

Well, at least to a certain extent.

It had started with Havoc shamelessly flirting with her whenever they found themselves together at the shooting range, Rebecca bantering back with him without an ounce of hesitation. Somehow, it seemed, that only encouraged him further, flirtatious words tumbling from rosy lips – a lit cigarette almost constantly in between them – as he examined guns and shot at the target with precision. Rebecca would never admit to follow the lines of his flexing arm muscles each time they hung out at the range, but she was aware – from Havoc’s stupidly charming grin alone – that he knew she did it either way. It escalated when they coincidentally met each other in a quaint little pub in the south outskirts of East City, sharing pints of beers, greasy food and a night of talking and laughing outside of the military buildings. It escalated further when they created a non-official habit of meeting each other there on Thursdays, drinking together until they got too impatient and moved to either of their apartments, kissing hungrily and striping hurriedly as soon as the door was closed, until they showed up to work on Fridays a little worse for wear.

Overall, it was fun to have Havoc in a friends with benefits arrangement. Or colleagues with benefits. _Whatever_ , Rebecca tried not to think too much about labels at that time.

But then, Rebecca had went and fallen for him. Because of course she did. How could she not, when Havoc was beautiful and attentive and just the right amount of cocky? It wasn’t just the way his body moved over hers when they fucked that captured her attention and affections, or the way dark boxers looked so damn good on his hips. Instead, it was the way he held her – gripping hard at her waist at the same time that he managed to be caring and gentle –, those blue eyes fixed on her as he moaned her name into the night. It was how Havoc bordered on dorky, but was clever enough to be able to mask it and pass as aloof or easygoing. Finally, Rebecca couldn’t help but fall for the man when he was so much more than what she expected, dedicated to his work and terribly funny, in the sense that he kept flirting with Rebecca and treating her to almond chocolate even after he had already gotten her to bed.

Then, _surprisingly_ , Havoc had officially asked her out. He did it during one of their Thursday meetings, joining her on their usual table at the pub. As the waiter served them with Havoc’s usual wheat beer and Rebecca’s stout one, her companion lit a cigarette and took a long drag, blowing the smoke to the side and smiling charmingly at her. Without even taking a sip of his beer, Havoc reached for her hand and squeezed it softly, threading their fingers together as he casually asked if she wanted to go out for real, as his girlfriend. Rebecca answered with an equally nonchalant “yes, sure”, but the large grins on both of their faces proved they were anything but. That night, they barely made it past Rebecca’s front door before Havoc was eating her out on her couch like a starved man and Rebecca knew he was the only one she wanted to be with.

It was all good – dinner dates and cuddling sessions after sex – until, barely a month later, Colonel Mustang and his whole team were transferred to the Central. It wasn’t just Havoc, but it was Riza parting as well. Rebecca, though, suggested they continued dating in a long distance relationship and that they could visit each other when possible. However, Havoc refused, not meeting her eyes as he mumbled that it wouldn’t be fair to Rebecca to keep her in a relationship in which they wouldn’t be able to see each other. He left the pub with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, head tilted down as he tried to light it with a non-functional lighter.

When he quickly got a new girlfriend after breaking up with her and moving to the Central, Rebecca was sure the last of Havoc’s concerns were desires to be fair to her. After that, Rebecca allowed herself one day of miserable moping, eating an entire bar of chocolate with a glass of cold milk in her equally cold living room, and moved forward. She swore to herself to never give Havoc the time of day anymore.

It didn’t hurt any less when she learned from Riza that the girlfriend was actually a homunculus, it wasn’t like it mattered. Instead, it hurt so much when, in Riza’s letter, Rebecca also found out that Havoc’s legs got paralyzed during the mission and that there wasn’t any perspective of healing. As instructed, she burned the letter before collapsing on her kitchen floor and crying her eyes out for Havoc, hugging her knees close to her chest and trying not to think about the fact that he couldn’t walk anymore.

She didn’t call or visit, though, for she couldn’t find the strength to do so.

And when she went to the Central to pass Grumman’s note forward to Mustang, she enjoyed her lunch with Riza as much as she could – glad to enjoy quality time with her best friend, even if the food tasted bland – and passed a pack of Havoc’s favorite brand of cigarettes across the table, asking Riza to hand them to him. Later, when Rebecca and Maria stopped by Havoc’s family store to pick up more munition, she couldn’t leave the car, cowardly waiting inside and gripping hard the steering wheel as Maria completed the transactions inside.

Yes, she most definitely was a big fucking coward when it came to Jean Havoc, but it wasn’t like it mattered anymore. Either way, she couldn’t bear to see him in a wheelchair, unmoving.

Then, Amestris was safe from weird beings’ megalomaniac plans and Havoc had gotten his legs back, courtesy of Mustang, a philosopher's stone and an alchemist doctor. With that, he was back in action.

Rebecca mulled all of that over in her head as the train moved forward steadily, landscapes flying past her eyes. She observed the gradual change of scenery and held an open book with indifference, not paying any genuine attention to each. With Grumman becoming Führer, Rebecca was also transferred to the Central City. Where Mustang and all his team were stationed. Which, obviously, included Jean Havoc.

When the train arrived at the central station, Rebecca closed her book – bookmarking the same page she had opened it back in the beginning of her trip – and put it inside her purse, grabbing her suitcase and leaving the vehicle. Riza had been upset that she wouldn’t be able to pick her up from the station but Rebecca reassured her that it was fine, since Riza was overly busy with both her and Mustang moving up the ranks.

She hailed a cab outside and gave the driver her new address, a small but cozy apartment Riza had helped her find. It wasn’t long before she was carrying her suitcase through the staircases until she reached her floor and found the key the landlady had given her. Rebecca unlocked the door and entered the flat, placing her suitcase on the floor and closing the door softly behind her.

Her furniture had yet to be delivered, so besides the kitchen, bathroom and a small secondhand couch she bought the last time she was at the Central, the apartment was devoid of things. She walked towards the windows and looked at the city she was now going to live in, the streets illuminated by yellowish lights and people wandering around.

Then, Rebecca walked to her couch and took her shoes off, wiggling her toes and flexing her feet to alleviate the tension of a long trip. As she laid down on the couch and her body hit the cushions, Rebecca sighed tiredly and looked up at the ceiling, refusing to think any further about Jean Havoc.

–

It was weird to feel his legs again.

Granted, it was weirder _not_ to feel them. Jean still remembered in great detail how, when he was in his parents’ house after getting discharged from the hospital, he constantly tried to get up from his bed when he woke up just to realize a second later that he couldn’t. It was frustrating, to say the least, and when that happened, Jean usually found himself gritting his teeth, blinking back angry tears and forcedly clenching his fists – nails almost breaking skin. Then, he instantly would reach for his cigarettes and smoke one – frequently two, sometimes three – until he felt calmer and able to drag his body to his wheelchair.

Needless to say, Jean was very glad to have his functional legs back.

When Jean thought about his legs – and the time he was stuck to a wheelchair, itching to move but being unable to actually _feel_ that itch in his phantom limbs – he inevitably thought about Lust. He remembered about her claws striking his spine and him lying unmoving on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Sometimes, Jean still woke up from nightmares about that day in cold sweat and heaved breaths, memories still fresh. Overall, after that incident, Jean became much more aware and vigilant of his back.

However, when he thought about Lust, he also thought about Rebecca. He thought about her and how much of an asshole and an idiot he had been. Rebecca was fun and pretty, excitement and dedication in the way that she did things, and in no time Jean was enamored. She blushed whenever he flirted with her, even if her retorts were quick and sassy. She gave Jean a run for his money, both in the field and in the flirting department; therefore it was no surprise that soon enough they were rolling into each other’s bedsheets.

He truly liked her – from the way her sense of humor was awful to the way she could easily outdrink him – but the relationship had been young and, when Lust came into the picture, Jean inevitably fucked everything up. Which, Jean couldn’t advocate for himself, wasn’t surprising. It was typical of him, to fuck up the occasional good thing that happened to him.

Whenever Jean thought about all of that, he forced the bothersome reminiscences out of his mind, for they made him regret way too many things.

In that moment, though, Jean was forced to think about all of that as he overheard Hawkeye telling Fuery that Rebecca was also transferred to the Central. Well, that could get messy.

It was obvious from the way that Rebecca didn’t reach out that she wanted nothing to do with him anymore. And, honestly, why would she? She didn’t owe him nothing and Jean tried to convince himself that he didn’t mind her silence. Either way, with both of them working at the Central Headquarters, Jean told himself he would try not to get into her way, for she didn’t need the disturbance.

Jean was about to focus his eyes back on the paperwork scattered around on his desk, when he heard his name being called by Hawkeye. “Yes, Captain Hawkeye?” He acknowledged her.

With Mustang becoming a Brigadier General and Hawkeye ranking up to Captain, the entire team was busier, both with paperwork and with Mustang’s ongoing projects in Ishval. Jean barely got time for cigarette breaks anymore, but he couldn’t be happier to be back in action, even if paperwork was a pain in the ass. The only person that hated paperwork more than Jean was probably the General himself.

“Could you please go to the files room and get me the data on Ishval?” She required. “Here, this is the document’s code.”

“Yeah, of course.” He answered, accepting the piece of paper Hawkeye handed him, a series of letters and numbers indicating exactly where he would find the specific file.

With that, Jean started to make his way through the Headquarters unhurriedly, humming a tune under his breath in order to distract himself. As he walked towards the files room, thoughts about Rebecca still popped up in his mind without no coherency whatsoever. Most of them consisted of memories of lazy mornings with Becca’s body pressed against his own, of rushed coffee dates or dragged pub dates, of the way they smiled privately at each other whenever they crossed paths in the East Headquarters and, finally, of the way Rebecca kissed him, tender at the same time that it was desperate. However, his mind also supplied him with memories of the way Rebecca looked above him, sweaty and panting, her eyes often closed and lips parted open as she chased pleasure. Those weren’t particularly workplace friendly, though, so Jean tended to shove them out of his head as soon as the sinful image made itself present.

When he got to the right sector of the building, Jean greeted Sheska – who was working on her table and barely acknowledged him – and moved to enter the files room. He opened the door and-

“Becca?”

Well, so much for trying not to get in her way.

Rebecca was examining some files spread over a table, holding a few others on her arms. She sharply looked up when she heard her name being called, her dark eyes meeting Jean’s. Her expression was a mixture of astonishment and annoyance and, looking at her deepening frown, Jean belatedly realized his slip up.

“I- I mean… Lieutenant Catalina.” He stammered.

“Lieutenant Havoc.” She greeted him with a curt nod before once again focusing her eyes on the documents she held.

He nodded back, even though Rebecca wasn’t looking at him anymore. Instead of lurking around on the door, Jean entered further inside the room, embarrassed and frustrated with his mistake of calling Rebecca not only by her first name, but doing so with a fond nickname on top of it. Jean was an idiot, there was no doubt about that, but he thought he had some filter. Apparently, he was losing that, because the name escaped through his lips with a sense of familiarity and longing he knew all too well.

Maybe it was because he was thinking about on their rare coincidental days off with mandatory cuddles on his uncomfortable couch, Rebecca’s head resting on his lap or shoulder, before Jean deemed the newspaper he read too boring when he could kiss the woman by his side. Maybe it was because of the sweet memory but, either way, Rebecca was always a cute nickname in his mind.

Jean moved through the aisles of shelves, checking the code and searching for the one document he needed. He tried not to think about the fact that Rebecca still stood a few feet away, distant and silent, but her presence had always been imposing to him. He found the file easily but, instead of walking away and delivering the document to Hawkeye, Jean stood in front of one of the shelves, clutching the file and pondering about what to do.

Jean knew he had lost the right to call her by her first name, having to forcedly slip back into the military formalities. What wouldn’t he do, though, to touch her fingers again and massage the tension out of her shoulders.

He left the aisle and approached Rebecca, clearing his throat. “Uhh… Hawkeye said you were transferred here.”

“Yes, that’s right.” She answered politely.

“Was that when…?” He started, trying to make small talk.

“When Grumman became Führer, yeah.”

It was fucking weird to talk with Rebecca like this, awkward and hesitant of all things. When they first met, they were all flirtatious words and teasing jabs, which later, turned into fond remarks and pet names. And it was all gone now.

“How do you like it here?” Jean continued anyway, glad for anything Rebecca was willing to give.

“It’s ugh… It’s more stifling than the east, I guess.” She shrugged, gathering countless documents in her arms.

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it.” He said, trying to sound comforting.

“Yes, me too.” Rebecca replied, walking towards the door. “Well, I have to deliver these to the Führer, so have a good day, Lieutenant Havoc.”

Before Jean could wish her the same, Rebecca was gone, only the scent of her usual jasmine perfume hinting that she had been there. He pulled a chair for himself and sat down heavily, clearing the air in his lungs with a deep sigh and wishing he knew how to deal with his past mistakes and the ever present ache in his chest.

Overall, he wished they were back at the east.

–

The next time Rebecca found herself at the same place together with Havoc, it was a couple of weeks later.

She was taking a break and, while wandering around, she had found a quiet balcony on the south side of the Headquarters and sat down on a bench, relishing each minute before she inevitably had to go back to work. She sighed deeply and sagged her shoulders down, willing the tension away.

The wind that blew outside was refreshing and comforting, a promise of a heated and humid summer, a lot different from the sometimes suffocating air of her office. She tried not to think about it further, for it wouldn't change anything. It wouldn’t help to dwell on it, though, so Rebecca chased the bothersome and uncomfortable thoughts away.

Still, even if she didn’t want to think about it, it was hard to simply ignore it. Because of that, Rebecca reached inside her jacket and into the hidden pocket of it, picking up her almost full pack of cigarettes and a well-maintained lighter. She took one cigarette and placed it between her lips, lighting it up with nimble fingers and blowing out the first drag of smoke. Finally, Rebecca placed both the lighter and the pack by her side on the bench, resting her back against the wall and lazily smoking her cigarette.

It wasn’t a surprise anymore, but it instantly made her feel calmer.

She was halfway into the cigarette when a familiar figure joined her at the balcony. At, first, Havoc didn’t see her; he walked towards the balcony’s railing and, as usual, took his cigarettes from his pants’ pocket, putting the stick between his lips and tilting his head down to be able to light it. His sandy hair swayed with the gentle wind, his silhouette still as broad and strong as ever, addiction just as present. Rebecca watched him in silence for a while, not making her presence known, as Havoc battled with the seemingly useless lighter in his hands.

She could practically hear him grumbling under his breath and, securing the cigarette with two of her fingers and blowing smoke to the side, Rebecca chuckled lightly. She had never seen Havoc turn his head so quickly to the side, almost as if he was scared of the sound, or as if he had imagined it and felt the need to chase it.

Speechless, he took in the sight of Rebecca, from her crossed legs and sagged torso to the lit cigarette between her fingers. The first thing that came out of his mouth was predictable.

“Do you smoke?” He asked incredulously. During the time they were together, Rebecca never showed interest in smoking or joining him whenever he did, even if his addiction didn’t bother her.

Rebecca, though, wasn’t about to tell Havoc that his unhealthy habit had somehow rubbed off on her, the smoky scent of burnt tobacco a mixture of unpleasant, familiar and barely concealed yearning. Furthermore, she definitely wasn’t about to tell Havoc that smoking reminded her of him, and that she smoked when she felt shaky or unsafe.

She shrugged, looking away from his confused features, before replying. “Just when I’m stressed.”

Havoc, then, quietly approached her, not joining her at the bench, but resting his lower back on the railing and facing her instead. Wordlessly, Rebecca offered him her lighter, which Havoc took gratefully with mumbled thanks in between his cigarette. He took a couple of drags from it, blowing the smoke to the side as to direct the smoke away from Rebecca’s face.

“So… why are you stressed?” He tentatively asked. “Something happened?”

Rebecca sighed, resting her elbows on her knees and leaning forward. “Just Grumman being a creep as usual.”

By the bewildered look on his face, it seemed that Havoc wasn’t really expecting an answer. He quickly masked his expressions to be neutral, though, nodding in understanding.

“Grumman always did strike me as a weird guy.” He said casually. “What did he do?”

“Well, besides the mandatory pat on my ass,” she started angrily, “it seems that he’s also incorporating some dumb pick-up lines now.”

“ _He what?_ ” Rebecca lifted her eyes at the dark edge she heard in Havoc’s voice. Havoc had a scowl on his face, lips twisted in disgust and one of his fists clenched tightly by his side.

“It doesn’t go beyond that,” she continued, “but still… it’s awful.”

“Asshole.” He spat.

Rebecca couldn’t help but snort, leading her cigarette to her lips again and taking a long drag. “Yeah, an asshole sitting at the most important chair of this country.”

Havoc didn’t offer an answer to that, so Rebecca went on. “You know, he’s obviously a better option than Bradley, but… it’s incredible how these men can’t even show an ounce of respect for fellow military women.”

“How long has this been going on?” Havoc asked, still visibly fuming. His cigarette dangled between his lips, almost forgotten.

Rebecca looked at him for a few seconds, contemplating whether to give him that information. Honestly, Rebecca wasn’t exactly sure why she was telling Jean – _Lieutenant Havoc, actually_ – all of that, but the words spilled without any filter and, surprisingly, she found a strange comfort in his explicit indignation.

“It happened back at the east too.” She finally said.

“What?”

“It seems to be more frequent now, though,” she added, ignoring Havoc’s interruption. He was repeating himself. “I think he’s just trying to get a laugh out of the Generals.”

She shrugged, taking one last drag of smoke before extinguishing the burning against the sole of her boot. She threw the cigarette butt away and pocketed her lighter. Looking at the time on her wristwatch, Rebecca realized it was time to head back already.

“I guess it’s predictable that he would do that at my expense.” She said, getting up from her bench. She was almost at the door leading to the building when Havoc called her.

“Catalina?” She turned back, acknowledging him. “Look, even if it’s predictable, it’s… it’s still power abuse. Why don’t you say something?”

Rebecca chuckled, almost dangerously fond. She shook her head; Havoc still surprised her with his naivety sometimes. Rebecca guessed it was a Team Mustang sort of thing.

“Oh, Lieutenant.” She smiled faintly, almost sad. “You really don’t know how systematic this is, right? If it wasn’t me, it would be another woman. If I call it harassment, they kick me out. It isn’t easy to fight against this shit when these men know they can get away with it. And besides, I know how to take care of myself.”

“I know you do.” He answered. “I guess… I just wish you were jumpier and accidentally shot him in the face the next time.”

Rebecca couldn’t hold back the amused laugh escaping through her lips even if she tried. It was nice to at least imagine it. Maybe the next time Grumman harassed her in any way, she would picture that in her mind, taking her pistol out of its holder and silencing the old asshole for good.

“Me too.” She replied, a smile still dancing on the corners of her lips as she spun on her heels to leave. “See you, Lieutenant Havoc.”

As Rebecca made her way back through the corridors, she felt a bit lighter, her back muscles not as tense as before. The cigarette definitely helped, but maybe Havoc had his share of contribution as well.

–

It wasn’t unusual that Jean frequently caught himself thinking about what Rebecca told him that day on the balcony.

It was disgusting and disrespectful, to say the least, what Grumman was doing. And beyond that, it was unnerving to think that Rebecca didn’t have a safe environment in her own workplace to begin with.

As much as he wanted, Jean couldn’t shoot the new Führer in the head so, every time he was forced to go along with Mustang to his meetings with Grumman, he tried not to be too obvious about his newfound hatred towards the man. Sometimes, Rebecca was there as well and Jean had to physically hold back the urge to pull her out of the room, for her discomfort around the man was clear.

But since he couldn’t do neither of those things, Jean usually got rid of his nerves, frustration and the feeling of uselessness on the shooting range. It felt good, leastways, to shoot at the target with an almost religious precision with a carbine or even with a handgun.

It was in one of those days that Jean crossed paths with Rebecca again. She hadn’t been on the meeting that day, but that did little to subside his anger. So, shooting range it was. He didn’t know for how long he stayed there, shooting steadily at the target, ears muffled and wasting munition until his shoulders were a little less tense.

As he shot the last bullet inside the carbine, Jean took the muffler off his ears and turned towards the tent set up outside, intent of getting rid of the grime and sweat. Just as he turned, though, Jean’s eyes found Rebecca sitting behind a table, seemingly cleaning a disjointed pistol with practiced moves.

At first, she didn’t see him, though, her eyes were down and focused, succinct movements in the way that her hands moved and placed the gun’s parts aside to, later, articulate all the pieces back together. In that split second, Jean was blown away by the obvious fact that Rebecca was beautiful, no preambles about it. Her dark, long hair was pulled into her usual ponytail, stark against her fair skin. He couldn’t see her eyes properly, for they weren’t looking back at him, but Jean could swear they still sported their usual burn behind dark orbs. She wore her blue turtleneck; jacket discarded on the back of her chair, and it was incredible how good she made one simple shirt look. It was plainly obvious, just like facts, but Jean felt like he was discovering that all over again. It felt like a punch to the gut.

It felt like stretched out minutes had passed, when, in reality, it was just a split second before Rebecca’s eyes were meeting his.

“Lieutenant Catalina.” He rushed out automatically.

Rebecca nodded, acknowledging him back, wrists twisting as she sanitized the holster in her hands with a rag. “Havoc.”

Jean walked the rest of the way towards the tent, placing the carbine and the muffler down on an opposite table. For a while, all they did was work silently, each one focused on their specific tasks. Jean let himself steal a couple of glances Rebecca’s way as he filled a mandatory report that he had been on the shooting range that day.

Eventually, he directed a question to Rebecca, head bowed down and eyes focused on the paper under his hands. “Were you on duty?”

“Yeah.” She replied casually. “I was escorting the civil police for something Grumman needed done.”

“I see.” Jean nodded.

Jean wasn’t expecting the conversation to move further, so he was happily surprised when Rebecca added, “Grumman might rank me up to First Lieutenant by the end of the month, so I’m trying to get as much assignments as I can.”

“Wow, that’s great!” He said, surprised and proud, truly excited for her. “It’s good to hear that, you deserve it.”

At that, Rebecca stopped her ministrations and gazed at him silently, an unreadable look in her searching eyes. Almost bashfully, Jean diverted his own eyes, looking to the side, to the scalding sun outside the tent. It was oddly amusing how Jean could only peek at her when she wasn’t aware of it. He didn’t think that he had the right to freely look at her, not anymore.

“Thanks.” She finally settled on. “It’s not that huge of a change, but it’s good.”

“You get a raise, though, so I guess it’s worth it.” Jean shrugged his shoulders, signing the bottom of the report, finally done with it. “I always calculate my salary raises with how many more cigarette packs I can buy. Maybe you can do that with that wine you like so much.”

It was only after saying it that Jean realized which words had made their way out of his lips. Seriously, someone needed to put a lid on his mouth whenever he was around Rebecca. He tentatively looked at her, afraid he might have crossed a boundary but, instead of finding the barely concealed annoyance he was expecting, Jean found Rebecca’s eyes blinking owlish at him. And then, Rebecca did something even more surprising. A snort made its way out of her, the harsh sound cutting the silence. It was quickly followed by a chuckle and it wasn’t long before she was clearly laughing, even if she masked the quiet sounds by bowing her head down and covering her lips with the back of her hand.

Jean was stunned into silence. The sound, not foreign or alien to his ears, instead so damn comforting and familiar, settled into his chest and latched there, digging its claws into his flesh until Jean realized just how much he missed listening to it. The unpretentious conversations, the effortless back and forth between them and, above it all, the gentle timbre of Rebecca’s laughter, everything made Jean think about the shooting range back in the East and how things were simple and genuine back then. It made the now existing distance between them all the more overbearing.

After Rebecca had successfully contained her laughter, Jean met her eyes again. He smiled briefly at her, almost pushing the movement out of his lips, for the reminiscences of past times weighted him down. “Well,” he said, looking at the clock on the wall, “would you look at the time. I have to go back to the office now.”

Rebecca nodded in agreement, once again serious and collected, a military, professional distance between two colleagues. “Good luck on your promotion.” He added.

“Thank you.”

It was with Rebecca’s laughter still ringing in his ears and remnants of her voice triggering unwanted memories that Jean left the shooting range, walking back towards the building. He enjoyed Rebecca’s company and he missed her terribly, but being around her now – in these new terms – was too loud of what they could have been. Of what they weren’t anymore.

–

After coincidental cigarette breaks and bumping into each other at the shooting range, Rebecca and Havoc had develop some sort of weird friendship. Actually, it wasn’t a friendship per se, but more of an amicable companionship. They talked casually and, for the surprise of both, most of the time, it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Well, until Rebecca was filled with homesickness and was forced to leave before she did something stupid, at least.

It was good progress. It was something Rebecca was learning to deal with.

He didn’t flirt with her anymore, though, and for that, Rebecca told herself she was glad. She didn’t know how to handle Jean’s flirting anymore – if he ever did it again –, for they weren’t in the East anymore and things were so different from when they first met. So, it was good. She was glad not to be on the receiving end of Havoc’s flirting anymore. For real.

It was a strange, building relationship.

That day, Rebecca was having lunch in the cafeteria with Riza, both of them making idle talk as they ate. The cafeteria was packed like usual, at that time of the day, soldiers and officials talking between themselves during the brief free time. It was then that Havoc joined them, placing his tray by Riza’s side and sitting down heavily, lacking grace.

“Captain Hawkeye, Lieutenant Catalina.” He nodded in acknowledgment, digging right after into his food.

The two women nodded back at him, also focusing on their food in between aimlessly chatting, in which Havoc occasionally butted in as well with a remark or two. It wasn’t long before Riza was announcing she was done with her food, getting up from the table and taking her tray with her.

“What? Are you done already?” Rebecca asked, eyeing her own half-full plate. Yes, Riza was indeed less chatty than Rebecca herself was, but since when did she start to eat so quickly?

“Yes, I need to analyze some paperwork with the General.” Riza answered with a gentle smile. “We can have lunch on the city one of these days, kay’?”

“Yeah, sure.” She nodded in agreement. Then, she added with a hint of a mischievous tone, “good work for you two.”

Riza waved her off, but there was still a small smile dancing on her lips and the fondness on Riza’s eyes – the one Rebecca was well acquainted with – was unmistakable. Rebecca watched Riza’s retreating back until – what could only be – Havoc snorting drew her attention back to him.

“Those two need to figure their shit out.” He remarked.

Rebecca couldn’t help but chuckle along. “Yeah, it’s been long due.” She added. “Two idiots, if you’d ask me, I mean, who takes that long to make a move?”

“I know, right?” Havoc agreed vehemently. “Although, from what I’ve been observing, I would say that they are somehow moving forward. Chief has been exceptionally perky these days and even if Hawkeye likes to think otherwise, her own excitement is plastered in her face.”

“Oh my, what they are up to?” Rebecca asked eagerly, intent on finding out about Riza’s and Mustang’s romance drama.

“Oh, nothing much.” Her companion shrugged. “They just keep _gazing_ at each other, you know? I just sense that there’s something going on.”

“I see…” She nodded, analyzing the situation. She couldn’t help herself, even if Mustang got on her nerves sometimes, she knew he was a good man and, most of all, she wanted Riza to accept the fact that she deserved happiness too. “I’ll try to get something out of Riza when we go out for lunch… then, I can get back at you.”

“Please do. I have an ongoing bet with Heymans about it.”

“Oh, a bet?” She mused. “What will I get out of it?”

It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Now that she heard it out loud, it sounded suspiciously like flirting to her. And judging by the incredulous and stunned look on Havoc’s face, he thought so too. For a few uncomfortable seconds all they did was stare at each other in an awkward silence – while the cafeteria busted with noise and chatter –, gaping like fishes for lack of what to say.

“Huh…” Havoc started, but afraid of what he might say, Rebecca hastily cut him off.

“I’m kidding.” She forcibly chuckled, spitting the sound out. “You don’t have to give me anything, I’ll tell you either way.”

It wasn’t like that follow up helped her either way, since it implied – or better yet, clearly said – that Rebecca was willing to pass information forward to Havoc gaining nothing in exchange, just so that he could win his stupid bet with Breda. However, it was better than hearing whatever Havoc was going to reply with because, first and foremost, Rebecca was still afraid of hearing Havoc’s flirting so closely, directed at her again.

He nodded dumbly, still visibly a bit perplexed at Rebecca’s words, looking down at his plate again and resuming his eating. He looked a bit crestfallen, if one was to ask Rebecca, but she forced her eyes down as well, diverting them and forcing herself not to think about it.

When they parted ways after the end of lunch, the uncomfortable atmosphere still followed them out. Embarrassed, both of them avoided each other’s eyes, unknowing how to act and how to go back to that reliable and riskless realm they had found around one another, each one following their own way towards their offices with mumbled farewells.

As Rebecca made her way through the mostly empty hallways, an insistent thought, a constant reminder she usually tried to push to the back of her mind made its way inside her chest, swimming between her lungs and making itself imposing, unquestionable. Then, she couldn’t help but to acknowledge the fact that this new, weird companionship with Havoc felt insufficient and inadequate. It was not enough, she now realized, to have just a portion of Jean in her life after she had taste of the whole thing for a brief while.

–

Pushing the pub’s door open, Jean instantly made his way to the bar, claiming a stool by the counter. It was second nature to reach into his pants’ pockets and grab a cigarette, lighting it with nimble fingers and taking a long drag of the numbing smoke. He flagged the bartender and asked for a pint of beer, thanking the man when the dripping glass was placed in front of him.

It wasn’t unusual for Jean to go to a bar after a tiring day of work, but it wasn’t nearly as gratifying as it once has been.

Still, he drank his beer and smoked cigarette after cigarette, filling the ashtray before him with lots of ash and countless cigarette butts. With a hunched back and stiff shoulders, Jean tried not to let his mind wander too far away from him, into dangerous utopias, things he wanted to do, things he wanted to chase, but was too afraid to actually pursue.

Jean knew what he wanted, he knew it clearly. He knew that he wanted to take Rebecca’s hand in his and interlace their fingers, tenderly kiss her upturned lips and, before anything else, just _be_ together with her again. And that was something he vowed to himself not to ever want again.

“Shit.” He murmured to himself, reaching for his beer only to realize the glass was empty already. He called for the bartender and asked for another one.

Besides, this new tiptoeing around Rebecca, the conviction and finality in which she called him by his last name and military rank instead of the sweet tones she used to roll on her tongue to call his first name – all of it – crawled its way under Jean’s skin and settled there, digging a hole of uncomfortable starving in his chest. This yearning, this unnamed and constant feeling was ever-present each time he was around Rebecca, unsatisfied with the apparent middle ground they had found in an amicable companionship, but all the while telling himself he should be gratified for having at least that.

Oh, but how hard it was.

He turned his head to the side in order to light up another cigarette only to meet the blue eyes of a brunette woman already looking his way. She smiled coyly when she realized he caught her gaze, well-kept fingers holding onto her martini glass. Jean blew the smoke out and gently smiled back, not offering much in response.

She was beautiful, no doubt about that. On another day, Jean might have noticed the resemblance between the unknown woman and Rebecca, how they had a similar hair length and how milky both of their skins were. Instead, what he noticed was the discrepancies between them. How clear and how brash they were. How this woman’s hair was the wrong shade of brown, how her smile trembled in its edges – petite and timid, instead of wide and energetic – and how her eyes were the completely wrong shade, too bright, too blue when, in reality, Jean was searching for darkish orbs, alluring ones that drowned each person that dared come too close.

Furthermore, flirting in a bar was something that he _used_ to know how to do and, again, it wasn’t as satisfying as it once has been. Flirting in a bar now made it obvious that the woman at the end of the counter wasn’t Rebecca, couldn’t possibly be, and Jean didn’t want to do it in those terms.

He didn’t let the thought that it reminded him way too much of the pub they shared back in East City finish, for he was already familiar with that trail of thoughts, for it was already situated in his mind.

Instead, Jean slapped some money over the counter and grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lighter from the wooden surface, swiftly getting up from his stool. As he made his way out of the bar and closed the heavy door behind him – welcoming the night’s chilled air – Jean didn’t once look back, not wanting to meet the disappointment in another woman’s eyes, even if they were the wrong color.

–

“So, how are things between you and Mustang?” Rebecca let the question roll from her tongue without preambles, the heavy familiarity of something she had asked her friend countless times already coating each word.

Riza chuckled, letting her eyes fall over her lap as she shook her head from side to side with something that looked suspiciously like fond amusement. When she raised her eyes again, Rebecca could swear her friend’s eyes were sparkling, mirth and joy dancing freely in them, an elated, small smile on her lips. It was something unusual to see, Riza letting go of all her burdens, if only briefly, – the ones that dated from way back and the current ones – that the excited squeal that Rebecca let out was completely involuntary.

“You sneaky thing!” Rebecca accused lightly. “Tell me!”

Riza held back another chuckle, taking her fork and pushing her food around the plate for a bit. “Can’t a woman enjoy a peaceful lunch with her best friend without men getting in the way of it?”

“Yes, you can.” Rebecca replied, unfazed by Riza trying to escape her questionings. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do here, by the way. As for ‘men getting in the way of it’, though, I am sorry but I’m a curious person and you have been holding information. So please, spill it.”

Riza’s smile widened, she dropped her fork over the plate and reached for her glass of white wine. As she placed it down after a sip, Riza indulged Rebecca in her overflowing curiosity because, if anything, she was indeed holding information about her relationship with Mustang for a while now. It was something both strong and fragile – their bond unbreakable, but their workplace still covered in prejudices and hierarchies – and it was something Riza treasured, something she wanted to protect, hence her silence.

Rebecca, though, had been by her side since the very beginning of things and, not only she deserved to know about it, primarily, Riza _wanted_ to tell her. Her best friend listened with blatant interest in her dark, hungry eyes and, by the end of it; she was almost bouncing in her seat.

After she finished telling Rebecca the things she wanted to know, Riza smiled to herself, letting her own curiosity take place. “Now that I have fulfilled your curiosity, why don’t you fulfill mine?” She inquired. “What’s going on between you and Havoc?”

At that, Rebecca muted herself. At the mention of Jean’s name, Rebecca suddenly became unarticulated. It was like that every time, Jean’s presence invited itself in like a punch to her gut and stole all her words, leaving her speechless, bare. She glanced down at her plate and circled the base of her wine glass with her finger, chasing words, gathering chaotic feelings, swallowing bitterness, regret and longing down her throat.

“There’s nothing going on.” She settled on. Because it was simple, because it was the truth.

Riza didn’t say anything, letting Rebecca take her time, giving her space. Riza was, before anything else, attentive and compassionate, and Rebecca loved her for that.

“It’s not like we are at East City.” It tumbled from her lips before she could stop it, lingering thoughts during prolonged months of uneasiness and prickling fingertips. “It’s not like that anymore. Things… things are different.”

“Does it have to?” Riza intervened then.

Rebecca looked up, widened eyes lost and confused. “Does it have to what?”

“Be just like it was back in the east.” She elaborated. “Maybe… you can find something new between the two of you. Things _can_ be different, but that’s something you need to know if you want to pursue or not.”

Rebecca chewed on her lower lip, considering her friend’s words. She had never thought about it like that, over those lenses. Maybe the homesickness had been so imposing, so omnipresent, that it left no available space for new thoughts, other possibilities. She felt so stupid now. It all came to her in a jumble of unexplored sentiments, old yearning and brand new excitement and too many words to depict the things she had, the things she wanted with Jean.

“I don’t know…” Rebecca murmured, deep in the swirl of thoughts Riza had pushed her into.

–

As Rebecca tidied her place up, she hummed a gentle tune under her breath, organizing the table for two and checking the food she was preparing inside the oven. Riza was supposed to come over soon and they were going to have a night of chilling and relaxing together.

It was something they used to do often back when both of them were in the East Headquarters but was slowly lost. Now that they were both in the Central and that the political situation of the country was much more stable, they were trying to find comfort routines back.

She tried not to think too much about Havoc – something she had to tell herself on the daily, for the thoughts were too insistent – but ever since Riza had mentioned him during their lunch together and ignited that fire, all Rebecca could do was think about it. About _him_. She couldn’t help it. The thoughts crept back to her mind oh so silently, quietly, that she was only able to perceive them when they had already taken so much brain space it was impossible to push them out. The wondering, the _daydreaming_ about Havoc, it didn’t seem to want to stop anytime soon.

Just as she placed a bottle of wine and a corkscrew over the table, Rebecca heard tentative knocking on her front door. She skipped towards it, turning the key on the lock and excitedly pulling the door open without a second thought. She wholeheartedly blamed the overflowing thoughts about Havoc for what spilled from her mouth.

_“Jean?”_

–

Jean hated himself for fidgeting, for shuffling his feet on the ground. However, it had been so long since Rebecca had called him by his first name, unhesitating, loud and clear, and it threw him off his balance. He cleared his throat, shoved his tight fists inside his jacket’s pockets and forced himself to look at Rebecca’s bewildered shock.

Hawkeye owned him big time for this.

“Hey, uh…” He started, unsure. “Good evening.”

“…good evening?” She replied, clearly lost.

“Hum so… Hawkeye sent me here to tell you that she won’t be able to make it today.” Jean finally elaborated, after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. “Something with the General, I think, so you know how it is… she didn’t get into much detail.”

“Oh, I see.” Rebecca breathed out, seemingly pausing in order to gather her thoughts. Then, she looked down and whispered something under her breath that Jean wasn’t quite able to catch, spit out words that sounded a lot like swearing.

Jean sighed, telling himself he wasn’t expecting anything else and detesting the fact that he knew that was a blatant lie. He didn’t want to acknowledge that his feet were dragging – heavy weights glued to the floor – and for that, he forced them to move, to leave the – always – welcoming warmth. He spun on his heels, ready to go, when he heard Rebecca calling him again. Havoc this time, not Jean.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, do you…” She stammered for a bit. “Do you want to stay?”

“What?” He wasn’t sure he had heard it right. Was Rebecca inviting him in? To her own space, where she looked comfortable and at ease? Jean, who made her stutter and look away?

“Yeah, I mean,” she shrugged her shoulders, not quite meeting his eyes. “I prepared food and everything and since Riza won’t come, it’s kinda depressing to eat alone or just put it all away. So, do you want to come in?”

Yes, she most definitely was. And Jean wasn’t about to pass it up. Still, he felt that he needed to ask, “are you sure?”

“Yes, I wouldn’t invite you if I wasn’t.”

He should have known. There was no hesitation on her voice this time, it didn’t waver. Rebecca was smiling. Jean felt a smile tugging on the corner of his lips as well. He let it take place, stepping closer, further into Rebecca’s realm.

She let him in, making space and closing the door behind the both of them.

Rebecca’s place looked a lot like the one she had on East City. Aromatic candles in between scattered books over a comfy-looking couch and soft blankets. The eventual gun over the coffee table or a bookshelf might have been surprising for some, but Jean let his eyes roam around them like any other object in the house. Overall, it had character and, most of all, the familiar items reminded him of the time he spent on another apartment, a few of his own belongings slowly melting in between Rebecca’s ones.

There, in the Central, her flat was unsurprisingly all Rebecca, each corner a glimpse of her unique traits. Although, instead of feeling foreign to the space, unwanted and excluded, Jean felt that it was spacious rather than cramped, every nook a possibility, an open space that one day, he might be welcomed to again. Still, even if the apartment was inviting and Rebecca honest, Jean couldn’t help but to be a tad nervous to be in her space again, after so long.

Lost in his head for a bit, he almost missed Rebecca asking if he wanted to hang his jacket on the living room hook, for inside was warmer. At that, he nodded dumbly and shrugged the heavy jacket off, following Rebecca with his eyes as she made her way to the kitchen, the smell of baked vegetables a telltale sign of Rebecca’s pragmatism when it came to cooking.

“Grab a seat for you on the table!” Rebecca shouted from there.

Jean did as she instructed, pulling a chair and sitting down. He eyed the empty glasses of wine on the table, two for each, one for wine and one for water. Then he thumbed the label of the bottle of red wine Rebecca had left over the table. It was one of her favorites.

As Rebecca left the kitchen and joined him at the table, she immediately reached for both the corkscrew and the bottle of wine over the surface. With deft and precise movements of her wrist, she easily opened the wine, taking the cork out. Jean almost smiled to himself; he missed watching her do that.

Every bottle of wine she opened – then and now – Rebecca did it with the same mastery in which she handled guns, accurate and skillful in all her motions – sharp at the same time that it was fluid, tender. Yes, maybe it was something odd to marvel at but, still, it was strikingly beautiful.

“So, are you working tomorrow?” She asked, halfway into filling a glass.

“Yeah, I took a day off not long ago so…”

“Oh, I’m off duty tomorrow.” She said, moving to fill the other glass. “That’s why Riza was supposed to come over, actually. So that we could get drunk together with no regrets. I guess she chooses the General over me.”

Both chuckled, in unison. “You fight a hard battle there.” Jean added.

“I do indeed. I can’t blame her for it, though. I’m good like that.”

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing that I have, more than once I might add, gone to work while hangover,” he snorted, swirling the dark liquid and moving the glass to toast with Rebecca's. “Then, I’ll go along with you in your crusade.”

“Why, thank you.” Rebecca smiled, tipping her head back slightly to sip the wine, licking her darkish lips to chase the unique, intricate flavors of the beverage.

Then, she turned around and headed to the kitchen once again, humming a tune in the back of her throat and leaving Jean to deal with – as cliché as it sounded – a fluttering stomach. He sipped his wine as well, searching for something to do with his somewhat sweaty hands and looking for ways to calm his still present nerves.

Even if he was able to mask it, Jean was, to this day, intimidated by Rebecca’s bluntness and confidence, her smiles and, above it all, her distance.

“Do you need any help over there?” Jean asked, feeling stupid for not offering sooner.

“Don’t worry about it! It’s ready!” She announced back happily.

A couple of minutes later, after a series of banging sounds that probably consisted of a hunt for a nice tray, Rebecca joined him back at the table. The steam that rolled out of the vegetables smelled great and, in a last attempt at being helpful, Jean made space at the surface for her to place the tray down.

As Rebecca finally sat down across from him and both of them served themselves with food, conversation started to flow in between bites and sips, oscillating among trivialities – work and their friends, how each of them was doing. While the night progressed and the city slowly went to bed, Jean and Rebecca talked freely and laughed with no restrain, each sip of wine liberating, each of Rebecca’s loud snorts an untangled knot.

It wasn’t too long before Rebecca opened another bottle of wine for them to indulge on. This bottle, though, was savored with fancy pieces of chocolate and a shared cigarette that Jean rolled then and there, scattering the tobacco over the paper and licking its corners in order to seal it. It was, overall, a discrepant assortment of flavors and scents.

Sweet, melting chocolate with burnt tobacco and smoke. Then, deep, rich wine – complex tones that Jean wasn’t quite able to identify past the numbing alcohol. And Rebecca’s jasmine perfume, simple, gentle, intoxicating…

Further intoxicating than her perfume, though, was the feeling of their fingers brushing each time they passed the cigarette over the table, the delicate touches a spark to be ignited, a reminder of domesticity, maybe even, an unspoken promise. He felt stupid when he – at each sharing of the cigarette – had to ignore the teenage excitement of having his lips where Rebecca’s lips were.

Slumping their inebriated bodies over their respective chairs, Rebecca and Jean didn’t move their feet away when they eventually touched under the table. Instead, ankles slowly hooked themselves around each other, relishing the brief – trivial and now rare – warmth, seeking that timid, fragile intimacy.

Later, when their eyes and words became bolder, they were way past the line in which realization about what they were charging towards could be an option. It was the doing of a sudden hunger, as if they were beasts going too long without the taste of flesh, dangerously starved for it. Jean teased and played with a sly smirk on his lips, sharp words forcing Rebecca to meet him halfway, respond in equal intensity. She, on the other side, hunted with more touching, a hand to his hand, curious fingers to his forearms, a foot tracing the path from his ankle, through his calf and to the back of his knee.

When the air shared between their bodies grew hot, bordering on stifling, instead of moving away and creating distance, Rebecca moved closer, drawn into it. It was a fire they both craved for a long time after being unable to burn their hands on its flames. Now, without fears or overflowing questions, they charged after it with no hesitancy whatsoever, finally realizing they were actually moving towards each other.

With Rebecca on his lap and pressed against the edges of the table, they kissed for the first time again. Desperate and rushed, they licked into each other’s mouths, unknowing if they were chasing after something lost or pursuing something new. Either way, being afar from each other now seemed to be unthinkable for both. He gripped her hips tightly and pressed her closer, ending all the distance he was so scared of. And Rebecca pressed even closer, unwilling to go, settling all of her borders on the curves of Jean’s arms.

She moaned and whimpered above him, against his lips, and Jean responded in kind with more intelligible sounds. As she pressed their lips harder, licked and tugged at Jean’s lips – spit rolling down their chins messily –, her desperation shined through her breathlessness – again unwilling to part, even if that meant gasping for air. And Jean, he drowned himself in Rebecca, her touches, her heady scent, the way she felt in between his hands again, her grounding weight over his thighs. His conscience fled him and, instead of think, then he could only feel, chant _Becca, Becca, Becca_ like an unstoppable prayer, like an overflowing beg.

When they eventually moved to Rebecca’s room and stripped each other of their clothes, their movements suddenly turned lethargic, calm in the midst of their earlier hastiness. Two pairs of hands unbuttoned shirts, pushed fabrics away, felt the heated skin underneath. Jean paused and regarded her when she got fully naked in front of him, admiring her curvy body, reaching a hand to thumb an old scar on her stomach. He leaned forward and down, pecked the corner of her lips and continued further, kissing the underside of her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, one of her breasts. Rebecca held him as he gently kissed her fevered skin, fingertips unsteady against his body as she gasped quietly at each kiss; the sound lost into the night.

Among moments of tender delay and prolonged touches and instants of urgency and desperate claiming, they found their way to the bed, hands roaming and kisses dragging. Then, Jean tasted her again, Rebecca felt him on her hand again. They barely spoke, the only sounds that echoed through the walls of the room were heaved breaths and deafening anthems of their names. They moved against each other as if in a dance routine they never forgot, no matter how long they went without following the steps of that lustful tango.

It was, in the end, instinctive to be with each other. _Ingrained_.

When Rebecca welcomed him inside her walls again, along her wetness, Jean whimpered pathetically loud, unrestrained, almost through a sob. He held her tightly, gripping hard all of her available flesh. There, she trembled under the grip of his palms, a sensitive hurricane. Even her moans, her gasps of pleasure, every sound she made carried shaky tones. Furthermore, Jean felt that each of Rebecca’s trembles reverberated in him through the space where their bodies touched, through the gaps that didn’t exist between them anymore.

He trembled with her.

–

Rebecca woke up with a heavy arm draped over her waist, a possessive – yet gentle – hold pressing her down on the soft mattress. She blinked her eyes open and tried to make sense of the foreign touch, her mind still clouded with sleep. When Rebecca looked over her shoulder, she saw sandy hair, chapped lips and a strong, familiar torso.

It was warm, comfortable. Jean’s hold was home.

Still, as the memories from the night before filled her head, the lack of talks or understanding and the impulsiveness of their acts overwhelmed her. Even if she felt safe in his arms, they still felt like danger – and the realization made her eyes stung.

She tentatively held his wrist and moved it away in order to slip out of his hold, and made her way to the bathroom, grabbing some clothes on her way and quietly closing the door behind her. As she got dressed, a multitude of thoughts ran through her mind, confusing her further. Rebecca hated the fact that she had to come to a conclusion, _to a decision,_ in the mere minutes it would take for Jean to wake up.

She loved being with him again, that was a given, but, under her skin, laid bitter insecurities. Even if the touch of his hand on her skin was something she would welcome every time, Rebecca was still worried to be together with him again.

Overall, her vacillation, her unsureness was what scared her the most. The possibility to be together with Jean or to lose him once again.

When she finally opened the bathroom door, Jean was already awake, his back turned to her as he got dressed in his pants again. He turned when he heard the click of the door, smiling warmly when his eyes met Rebecca’s.

“Becks.” He said through a sigh. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She mimicked, a shiver on her voice.

“Last night…” Jean began, approaching her with confident steps.

“…was a mistake.” She completed, the words out of her mouth before she could fully process them. Jean froze halfway, one hand hanging in the air before it dropped to his side, hope vanishing from his features. Rebecca looked away, ashamed, hurt by her own words.

In a sense, though, it was indeed a mistake. Instead of talk and figure out everything they had been bottling up for so long, they jumped each other and went straight to sex.

“I don’t think we should go down that path again.” She continued. “It failed us once already.”

“Oh. Okay then.” He said, voice barely a whisper. Rebecca told herself she wasn’t expecting a fight, for Jean to chase after her. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for last night.”

“No, I’m not apologizing for last night.” He shook his head. “It’s just- I’m sorry for how things didn’t work with us. I’m sorry for how I ended things in the east. I can’t- I- I’m so sorry for how I can't seem to be able to withdraw myself from you, Becca.”

Rebecca’s eyes stung again, worse this time, and she felt the first tears roll down her cheeks. Unrelenting fat droplets. She cried in silence as Jean put on his shirt again. He lingered by the door, hesitant. Finally, he added, “you know, there are other paths we could follow if you ever think it would be worth it.”

And then he left. Rebecca fell to her knees when she heard the front door open and close, a loud, concluding sound. She sobbed and gasped for air, stunned by her own doing. Her ugly cries echoed on the walls of the apartment, the only thing present there, imposing in its solitude.

She was alone again. Without Jean. To hold or to be held by him.

Suddenly, she felt utterly stupid. Jean was right. Riza was right. If both of them were charging towards each other, why was she trying to sabotage what they could have? Something new they could find? Rebecca was a sad idiot, she realized.

She shot up from her curled form on the ground and, with bare feet and vision still clouded by tears, ran towards her front door, pulled it open harshly, sprinting to the stairs. Rebecca wiped the remnant tears that still fell, skipped steps in her rush to get to Jean as fast as possible. She breathed hard, finally convicted in what she wanted.

Her eyes frantically searched for him, roaming each corner, each body in her field vision. It seemed, though, that he had left the building already. Undeterred, she followed him out, finally spotting his broad back as he made his way down the sidewalk, shoulders hunched.

“Jean!” She yelled, unbothered by the people that were staring at her. All that mattered was that Jean turned as soon as her voice was released, and she ran the rest of the distance that separated them.

She crashed onto him, hugging his waist and burying her face on his chest.

“You’re barefoot.” He said in surprise.

“Doesn’t matter.” Rebecca answered, shaking her head against the fabric of Jean’s shirt, squeezing harder. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Jean, I’m so sorry.”

“What… Becca.”

“ _I want to be with you_.” She stated, looking up into his eyes. They were red, wet around the corners. She reached up and gathered the wetness with her fingertips. “I don’t know what came over me; I don’t know why I started to push you away from me. I want you; I have no doubts on that. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.”

“Let’s discover some new paths together, ok?” Rebecca asked, finally allowing herself to smile, even if there were still tear tracks on her cheeks. Jean cupped her face, caressed her skin with his thumbs before smiling as well, bright and wide. Then, he leaned down, captured her lips in a gentle, unafraid kiss.

Rebecca, Jean, they both melted into the kiss, at ease. They were home.

“We have to talk, yeah?” He said when their lips parted, still close, still brushing each other. “Don’t run away from what you want. Please.”

“Never again.” Rebecca replied, eyes crinkling in their corners as she smiled. “Come back later today?” It was unfortunate, but Jean still had to go to work that day.

“Yes, of course.”

“I’ll be waiting. I’ll miss you.” She said, unconsciously leaning into him. Jean chuckled fondly, reaching a hand to tuck a strand of Rebecca’s dark hair behind her ear, continuing a path of tracing her edges with the tip of his fingers, mapping her skin as if he would forget it if he didn’t. He knew he wouldn’t, though.

“I’ll get homesick. But I will come home soon.”

**Author's Note:**

> i was listening a lot to catfish and the bottlemen's [homesick](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-NlxlI3KH6U) when i started writing this so that kinda inspired the title for this and the imagery of homesickness. also, i wanted to experiment a bit with this form of writing smut (less graphic and more descriptive) and i quite like how it turned out! (although i might have gone a bit overboard with it lmao) 
> 
> finally, i had an outlining for this but then, i obviously started to ignore it as i wrote so i'm sorry if things got scrappy by the end of it. it is what it is, my friends... either way, if you read this until the end, thank you a lot! I hope you had some fun or entertainment!
> 
> leave me a comment or a kudo! and come be my friend on [twitter](https://twitter.com/singlecelledorg) ✿  
> (*ˊᗜˋ*)/ᵗᑋᵃᐢᵏ ᵞᵒᵘ*


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